


learning experiences

by deadeyeboy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bath Houses, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18561973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadeyeboy/pseuds/deadeyeboy
Summary: Sojiro takes Genji along on a negotiation that goes somewhat awry.





	learning experiences

**Author's Note:**

> genzine fic that i never uploaded. trans genji in this one

  
The air is thick and hazy with steam, rising from the surface of the water in lazy coils. It collects on the wood and marble of the walls, and it glistens there; and it glistens on the swell of Sojiro’s bare shoulders as he steps into the bath, and the powerful cords of muscle in his arms and back.

Genji watches, mouth dry, as a bead of water begins at the nape of Sojiro’s neck, among the fine hairs there, and slowly trails down the curve of his spine. It rolls over the deep crimson and gold of Sojiro’s dragon, over the smooth, tawny skin at the small of his back, and then Genji loses it as his eyes are drawn to more enticing things: such as taut curve of Sojiro’s ass, which makes way for the dark bundle of his balls hanging low between his thighs—

“Genji.” Genji jerks his head up, a guilty grin tugging at his lips. “Enough staring. Finish cleaning yourself — Igarashi will be here soon.”

“Yes, Papa. . . .” The detachable shower head hisses as Genji rinses the last of the soap from his body.

Genji knows he’s meant to be learning. He knows that Sojiro sees his education as far from complete and so seeks to teach him a thing or two. It wouldn’t do to leave Hanzo without support once he finally claims his birthright as _oyabun_.

Genji knows all of this. But how in the hell is he meant to focus on anything but his father’s naked body?

Perhaps Sojiro senses his despair as Genji dips into the water beside him, because he nudges Genji with his shoulder and offers him a small smile. “You will not need to speak,” he tells him; this close, Genji can almost feel the way his voice rumbles in his chest. “Merely observe.”

He pulls away when the door set into the far wall slides open with a quiet _snick_. Genji can feel that gap acutely, that-several-inches-between them where he’d rather there be none—

Sojiro’s elbow digs into his side, and Genji jerks his head into an automatic bow as Igarashi enters the room, flanked by two burly bodyguards. He’s a slight, somewhat wizened old man, with a head of neatly combed white hair and a stern face. He’s naked; the bodyguards are not.

He seems surprised to see Genji — he stops short in the entryway for just a moment. Some unreadable expression flits over his face. Genji finds himself crossing his arms over his breasts, though he’s been anything but self-conscious for years now.

“I did not know your son would be here as well.” Igarashi has a voice like a creaky fence gate.

Sojiro inclines his head slightly. “He is here to learn. He will not be part of the negotiations.” Even as he speaks in collected tones, Genji sees the narrow of his eyes, and for once he understands why.

Igarashi is fond of meeting in bathhouses, Sojiro had told him the night before, speaking to Genji’s reflection in the mirror as he shaved. He believes it puts both negotiating parties on the same level, so that they might talk as equals. A show of good faith.

Genji had almost been too absorbed in the scrape-scrape of the razor over the underside of Sojiro’s sharp jaw to listen. But he recalls it now. The two bodyguards in neatly pressed black suits, formidable men the both of them, flanking either side of the tub as Igarashi slowly lowers himself into the water — that’s not what Genji would call equal footing.

Perhaps Igarashi notices Sojiro’s gaze, because he lets out a short, crackling chuckle. “Forgive an old man for his overcaution.”

After a moment, Sojiro dips his head once again. “Of course.” But Genji can see the twitch of muscle in his jaw.

The tension doesn’t quite leave the room after that, even as they settle down in the bath to begin negotiations. Genji does his best to follow along at first as Igarashi drones on about splitting ownership of the protection rackets in Shizuoka, but he quickly loses interest. It’s much more entertaining to watch his father’s face from out of the corner of his eye: the way his heavy brow furrows in concentration, the tight set of his lips that betrays no expression save for polite interest.

Hanzo is so much like Sojiro in that way — so easily able to school his face into a blank mask. You wear your heart on your sleeve, Hanzo would often scold Genji during training. So predictable.

In instances like this, it’s not so much of a weakness.

The bodyguard nearest Sojiro: his arm twitches the moment Sojiro’s head turns away. The soft lights of the bath house glint off the face of a sharp blade.

Genji’s face — the instinctive widening of his eyes, the shocked part of his lips — serves as a much quicker warning than his voice does.

Sojiro tenses.

“Papa!”

Water cascades over the edges of the bath as Sojiro twists around and coils down, the knife slicing through air where his neck was moments before. Genji careens backwards in the water at the same time Sojiro lashes out, snakelike. His hands impact either side of the bodyguard’s forearm. Genji hears the snap of bone and the man wails in pain, clutching at his mangled arm with his other hand.

Sojiro catches the knife as it falls from the man’s spasming fingers. Blood gushes forth in a beautiful crimson arc as he shoves it into the man’s throat and then yanks it back out, quick as a lightning flash. The man gurgles and drops to his knees, clutching vaguely at his throat before he slumps forward against the edge of the bath. His head tips forward.

The water runs red.

“Watch out!”

Sojiro grunts as the other bodyguard slams into him, sending them both toppling to the slippery floorboards. The first knife skitters away. The second knife sings through the air, plunging towards Sojiro’s bared chest; it instead slices shallowly over his collarbone, knocked off course by Genji leaping over the side of the bath and slamming his heel into the side of the man’s head.

He hisses in pain, then howls as Sojiro gouges his finger into his eye sockets, blinding him; Genji catches his flailing knife arm and wrenches it the wrong way as hard as he can, until he feels more than hears the sickly crunch of tendon and bone.

There Sojiro takes over; the reclaimed knife finds purchase buried deep in between the man’s ribs, angled to pierce his heart. He spasms once, twice — he goes still. Sojiro shoves his limp body away with a snarl as he pushes himself up.

He paints a fearsome image as he stalks around the edge of the bath, naked and blood spattered and wild-eyed, teeth bared. It takes Genji’s breath away, something hot and slick curling low in his belly: here, his father, the vicious, unhinged beast.

Igarashi seems stricken by it for a very different reason. He peers up at Sojiro with wide, rheumy eyes as he stalks forward, shivering where he sits in the water. He lifts a hand, and marvels at how the bloodied water has stained them pink.

“It was just business,” he croaks, wetting his lips. His voice breaks; he trembles, raising his pink, liver-spotted hands uselessly as Sojiro clasps either side of his head.

“Of course,” Sojiro agrees, before he snaps Igarashi’s neck.

For a moment, he just stands there, shoulders heaving with each panting breath.

Then he whirls around, growling. Genji freezes, as if he didn’t expect Sojiro to hear him shuffling forward. He gasps as he’s jerked forward into Sojiro’s arms, one steel-strong hand seizing his jaw.

Calloused fingertips dig into Genji’s cheeks. He gets the message, opening his mouth to make way for Sojiro’s insistent tongue. Slick-hot: it tastes of copper and bourbon, bloodlust and madness. He squeaks a little as rough, sticky hands grope at his small breasts, squeezing and kneading — he glances down and shivers at the sight of the streaks of blood that his father’s fingers have left on his skin.

What’s more, Sojiro is rubbing insistently against Genji’s thigh, the movements curt, desperate. “Open your legs for me, sparrow,” Sojiro breathes, voice hot against Genji’s cheek. Genji obeys without a thought, and then trembles and moans as Sojiro presses his cock into the space between his thighs, rubbing into the folds of his cunt.

It’s sloppy, uncoordinated, two words Genji would never have previously used to describe his father. Sojiro is panting low and rough in his ear, the head of his cock pushing past Genji’s plump clit and then back again, making Genji whimper and cant his hips. Several times it catches at the velvety rim of Genji’s hole, and he lifts up encouragingly, but Sojiro always stutters past it and then away again.

The slide of his cock is delicious. It’s not enough for Genji to get off, but that’s not the goal here; he feels as shaky as he might in completion when his father paints the insides of his thighs with hot come, grunting like an animal in his ear.

When it’s over they just rest together for a time until their panting subsides, Sojiro leaning heavily against Genji’s front. Genji glances to the side and sees Igarashi slumped against the side of the tub. His head is twisted at an impossible angle, and his neck purpling.

“Papa,” he whispers, nuzzling into his father’s hair, which is damp and sticky with blood and sweat. “In the future — can I come along on more business negotiations?”

The twitch of Sojiro’s smile against the side of his neck is answer enough.

 


End file.
